You'd Think I Have Blonde Roots

Let's paint a picture, shall we?

I'm rushing out of work, trying to make my 3:30PM hair appointment.  If successful, it's the first time in 2 weeks I've made it out of work before working over 2 hours overtime.  I keep telling everyone, "I can't meet; I have a 3:30 appointment."  (I don't mention that it's for hair...that would be career suicide, after all.)

I somehow make it out of work by 3:15PM (VICTORY!) and rush to the salon that's 15 minutes away.  With only 2 minutes to spare, I make it to the packed lobby that's normally empty and tell one of the girls that I have a 3:30 appointment with Danielle.

I am walked back to the waiting area, where my normal hair girl (Danielle) greets me with an inquisitive look.

Danielle:  "Hey honey, what are you getting done?"
Me:  "I have a hair appointment...with you...today..."
Danielle: "...are you sure?"
Me:  "Absolutely, it's at 3:30"
Danielle:  "Did you recently make the appointment?  Like, yesterday?"
Me:  "No, I made it the last time I was here..."

At this point, I notice a few things.

1. She's got someone in her chair already, and is clearly at the beginning stages of highlights
2. She's whispering furiously to the receptionist, asking her to check on something

While I'm pretty sure that I have an appointment, I decide to check my email confirmation as proof.

It says June 22.  I'm a week early.

I sheepishly walk over to her station and tell her that I'll see her next week, laughing hysterically.  "I'm so dumb...my appointment is next week..."  She says, "I thought so...I'm usually really good with my bookings!"

Missing my traffic window, not only do I have to drive home in construction, but I also have to drive home in POURING rain.

...and then I have to work once I get home.

If this isn't proof that I'm fried, I don't know what is.